Small Beginnings
by TokiNoEiyuu
Summary: Cartagena in the late 80ies, a streetkid and a treasure hunter with a very distinctive mustache, you know where I am going with this I am sure... this is my alternate own version of what could have happened back then, so be aware it's not simply following the game's story. : Oh an English is NOT my native language so if you find mistakes which surely are there...tell me kindly
1. Chapter 1

Another sunny August day in Cartagena. The humidity and heat had finally receded and a blissfully cool ocean breeze blew through the streets of the city.  
In the old quarter of the city where the colonial buildings stand, the lively colored paint flaking from their facades, crowds of people are walking.  
Mostly it is tourists, of course, but among the souvenir stands and overcrowded cafés the expert eye could find several pickpockets hiding in the side alleys and within the crowd itself, preying on their next targets.

Night was falling as the streetlights flickered to life.  
It hadn't been the best day so far for him.  
The profit was meager: Some 14,000 pesos and a handful of American Dollars. Enough to buy him some dinner but not enough to pay the old lady from the dry cleaner's for a safe sleeping place in the back of her shop.  
Too bad. He'd have to figure out somewhere else to sleep. Or maybe... a thought occurred to him as he spotted a tourist couple with their daughter in the crowd.  
The father was carrying the girl on his shoulders. She seemed bored. "Spoiled brat," he muttered under his breath, with a clear touch of bitterness.  
But her parents seemed an easy target, nevertheless. He positioned himself near a small souvenir stand and waited for the family to pass by.  
Just as he reached for the zipper on the womans' belt bag he heard the voice of the little girl shriek: "Look, daddy!"  
Damn! He twitched and instinctively dove back into the crowd.  
"What is it, Elena?" the father asked tetchily.  
"Oh I just thought I had seen the curator of the Naval Museum, daddy," the girl said.  
"I don't think he would ever walk around in this part of the city, my dear," said the mother in a snobbish kind of voice.  
"Okay." the girl said, simply. "Can you put me down please, daddy?"  
Yes. Now was his chance.  
He walked up to the three tourists nonchalantly and easily snatched a handful of bills from the man's pants pocket. Nice. Sitting ducks, just as he had suspected. Now for the girl. She had a small backpack that could be closed and opened with just a single piece of velcro.  
Oh please, this was just too damn perfect.  
With a quick move he flipped the flap of the backpack open and reached into it.  
He turned around, a tiny red purse in his hand and was about to blend with the crowd as he felt a small sweaty hand on his arm.  
"Hey," the girl named Elena said, a mixture of surprise and anger in her voice.  
He didn't bother to look back at her and just ran for it.  
He waited for her to call out to her parents, but either she didn't do that for some reason or he had already made up enough ground so that she was out of ear-shot.

Elena had felt someone at her back and caught sight of the boy out of the corner of her eye. He had her purse! Without thinking, she ran after him, in opposite direction of where here parents were walking.  
"Hey," she shouted. "Come on back here!"  
She ran as fast as she could manage between all the people on the street, trying not to lose sight of the boy in his red and white shirt.  
She finally squeezed her way out into a small side street and just saw him running, taking a left turn into an even smaller alley.  
She followed him as best as she could, even though he was a much better runner than she was.  
He hadn't seen her, she was sure of that.  
After a couple of random turns she found herself deeply lost in the confusing labyrinth of alleys that was Cartagena.  
He had to be just in front of her. Hopefully he had stopped running now.  
She quietly walked to the end of the street she was on and peeked around the left corner.  
There were a couple of trash cans on the far right back of the alley.  
And just behind it, the boy was standing, back leaned against the wall of a small building.  
He was busy thumbing through crinkly bills and didn't notice her at all.  
She tiptoed up to him and when she was a meter away she planted herself in front of him and cleared her throat loudly.

The boys' head shot up and he looked at her dumbfounded.  
His mouth opened and a rush of Spanish came out which she did not understand at all.  
But something occurred to her. Somehow he sounded very different from all the other people she had heard talking here. As he just kept on talking while gesturing frantically, she shouted "Stop!" which finally shut him up.  
"Okay, okay, wait! Listen to me," she said quickly.  
The boy was about two heads taller than her but he almost seemed intimidated now, his expression alert.  
"You do understand me, right?" she asked slowly.  
He just stood there, unmoving.  
But his face was telling him all she needed to know. "You... you are not from around here, are you?"  
He eyed her suspiciously then, taking a few tentative steps back from her and slowly shook his head.  
She sighed. "Okay, well then, where are you from?"  
Another moment of silence.  
Suddenly Elena remembered that she had just run away from her parents and they were probably looking for her now, horribly worried. She tried to remember how she got here and failed. She had turned left from the main street and turned right at the next corner...and then? She couldn't remember anymore.  
"Connecticut," the boy said finally, interrupting her thoughts. He was revealing a distinctively American accent. "If you have to know," he added, somewhat grudgingly.  
"A-ha! I knew you weren't Columbian. Your Spanish kind of sucks, you know," she said, obviously content that her assumption had not been wrong.  
"Why'd you steal my purse?"  
The boy looked at her disdainfully. "'Cause I was bored, you know," he said rolling his eyes.  
He threw the purse so it landed at her feet. Elena just looked down at it angrily and then back up at him.  
She picked up the purse and checked for its content.  
"I could have my parents call the police, you know" she spat.  
"Yeah, good luck with that", said the boy with a crooked smile and indifferently walked away from her.  
He turned around another corner and was gone.  
Elena stood there for a while, shaking with anger until her parents found her.


	2. Chapter 2

Elena sat on the bed in the large hotel room and stared grudgingly out the window.  
Her parents had given her quite the lecture about her just running away like that.  
But then again, they were really good at that: lecturing.  
Her parents had gone to some place to meet with the curator of one of the largest museums in Cartagena. "For their research", as they always said when Elena asked. Like that would tell her anything. Usually her parents were overeager to explain to her what they were working on but ever since they got here, they were behaving rather strange.  
They were both journalists for a big U.S. science magazine, but that was all she knew and already more than she cared to know.  
Watching the crowded street outside her window her thoughts kept recurring to that one thing the boy had said: "Connecticut."  
What was he doing here, so far away from home? His face and clothing had been all dirty and he didn't look like he had parents to tell him when it was time to take a bath. Plus, he was a thief, wasn't he? In the many countries she had been to with her parents she had seen children who looked just like that. Her mom had told here that they were "unfortunate" children who didn't have any parents and therefore lived on the streets.  
Elena had asked her why no one gave them a house to live in. She could not remember now what her mother had responded then.  
So the boy was homeless, she thought as an unpleasant feeling filled her.  
She couldn't help but feel bad for him, even though he had taken her purse and had been very impolite.  
Politeness is everything, her mother always said.  
But then again, it occurred to her, if he had no parents then there was no one to tell him how to behave, so maybe he just didn't know better.  
Elena tried to imagine what she would do if her parents just vanished. She couldn't.  
It would be impossible.  
If she could only leave the hotel room, she could go looking for him, she thought.  
But her mother had locked the door telling her to think about what she did while they were away for a few hours and that she was not allowed to watch TV.  
Elena looked out onto the street again and watched the people walk by.  
There was a small shop right opposite the hotel room that seemed to sell fruits exclusively.  
Many of the fruits here looked and smelled delicious but her parents hadn't wanted her to buy anything from the street merchants, saying the fruit weren't clean enough to eat them unwashed.  
As she tried to imagine what those big pearshaped things tasted like that were yellowgreen outside and salmon-pink inside with shiny black seeds, she saw someone familiar walk by the fruit shop: The boy from yesterday! He was still wearing his filthy red and white shirt and his slow pace and sagging shoulders suggested he was very tired.  
Elena found herself really wanting to talk to him for some reason.  
If only the door wasn't locked she could sneak out for just a moment.  
The boy passed the fruit shop and turned into the side alley next to it.  
For a second she considered climbing out the window but they were on the third floor of the building and the ground seemed unpleasantly far away from here.  
Then an idea struck her. She went to the phone and punched in the number of the reception desk.  
A man's voice asked how he could be of service.  
She said: "Hello, this is Elena Fisher from room three-o-five, I am supposed to meet my parents in front of the hotel in a minute but I can't get the door opened. I think the maid who came in here to clean up accidentally locked it when she left." She took a deep breath, hoping he would swallow the story.  
It took him some time to answer, maybe he had problems understanding her.  
"Can you please come with a key and open the door?", she added, talking more slowly.  
"Yes, of course, Miss", came as an answer. Only five minutes later a very proud Elena walked out of the hotel, a spare set of keys to the hotel room in her pocket.  
She looked around while walking towards the fruit shop and turned left into the small street.  
After a couple of minutes she got to a broader street that led to a small church square she hadn't been to before. There weren't many people here. Just a café on the right and some street merchants with their food and souvenir stands on the far left near the church.  
Her eyes searched for the grubby red and white shirt.  
Something, or someone flicked at her ponytail. She instinctively reached up to her head and spun around.  
"Could it be that you are following me?", the boy said crossing his arms, standing only a metre away from her.  
"How-...how did you-...", she stammered. "Don't even bother", he said. "I don't think your brain is gonna be able to process it."  
She shot him an angry look. He met her gaze, his expression serious.  
"So what's the deal with you?"  
"What do you mean?"  
"What I mean is that I wanna know why you don't have anything better to do to follow me around town."  
"Uh...", she suddenly realized how stupid her idea had been. What was she supposed to say now: 'I wanted to talk to you, because I feel sorry for you?'  
"I... I wanted to ask you something." - "Yeah? What is it?" the boy said indifferently.  
"I wanted to know why you gave me back my purse the other day?" Fair enough, she thought. She came up with something at least!  
He looked at her for a moment, squinting his eyes slightly. "What kind of a dumb question is that?" he said, finally.  
"It's not dumb!" she snapped. "I know you're a thief and you don't have a home!" she blurted out.  
"Wow, very observant. I wonder how you figured that one out." he said, unimpressed.  
"I-...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that actually. I just thought you might want to talk to someone here. You...seemed lonely."  
He snorted in derision. "Pff. And why on earth would I want to talk to you?"  
Elena braced herself. She wasn't going to give up that easily.  
"Because you said you were from Connecticut and I'm from Boston... so I figured maybe wanted to talk to me about your home."  
"Will you leave me alone then?", he asked tetchily, his voice weary.  
"I guess so", she said, realizing she was biting on granite here.  
"Okay. Let's sit over there, I am a little tired", he said pointing to a bench near the church.  
Elena sat down on the wooden bench as the boy sat down on the far other end trying to get as much distance betweem them as possible.  
He yawned and rubbed his face.  
"So...are you at least going to tell me your name?", she asked.  
He yawned again and mumbled something, she couldn't understand.  
"What?" - "The name's Drake. Nathan Drake" he said, impatiently, but more clearly now.  
"Nathan...okay." She smiled a little. "Why are you here in this city all alone? Where are your parents?"  
He squinted at her once again. "So you figured I am alone and homeless but couldn't put one and one together? I am an orphan. You do know what that means, don't you? My parents are dead. So I am not out here for the sheer fun of it, I have nowhere else to go and have to figure out where to get food and where to sleep. And as you can probably see, I haven't been able to sleep much last night, so can we just get this over with?"  
Wow, so he finally was talking. But for her taste he could do with a little less anger.  
"Where do you sleep?"  
"Here and there. I have my spots."  
"Isn't it dangerous?" she asked.  
He rolled his eyes. "Oh it's completely safe out here on the streets, if you don't mind getting mugged or raped," he said sarcastically. "You don't even know what that means, do you?"  
"I know what mugging is, thank you." She said firmly, slowly getting frustrated with him.  
"Ah, forget it," he said shaking his head.  
"I'm sorry about your parents", she said quietly.  
His head shot up to look at her. Then he let his gaze wander, the church square was now almost empty.  
"Don't really remember them, anyway. My mum died when I was really little and my father...he wasn't-... I didn't even know him, really."  
"I'm sorry."  
He shrugged, no emotion showing on his face. "It's alright."

They both stared into space silently for a while.

Nate didn't understand what was going on with him. Was it the sleep deprivation, or why was he spilling all this information to this little brat? And why was she so interested in him; what was her deal?  
He thought he had found a safe place last night, in the doorway of a department store but turned out a grumpy old man claimed this was his sleeping place and Nate didn't want to risk getting into trouble, so he left. He then wandered around the town trying to remember any other spots but ever since they tore down the old post office it was hard to find anything in this quarter of the city.  
Ultimately Nate had just sat down next to some large trash cans in a side alley and dozed for a bit until it dawned.  
Half asleep he had been walking aimlessly through town not even attempting to snatch some money from clueless tourists. Then he had somehow sensed someone following him, and voilá here he was talking to a silly little girl, that wouldn't stop asking stupid questions.  
And yet, he felt...what? Some sort of relief to talk. He barely ever opened his mouth since there was no one to talk to mostly. It felt good to speak English once again, too.


	3. Chapter 3

"A-hah!", an all-too-well known voice said behind him. Nate shuddered a little as he reluctantly turned around.  
As usual, he said nothing to the policeman. Better not to give away anything about himself.  
Everyone in town knew that Marquez was corrupt as hell and it was also no secret to most people that he liked to abuse little boys. One way or another. He was a downright asshole and Nate hated the man. He was 'lucky' that Marquez seemed to hate him just as much in return.  
Usually Marquez left Nate alone since he wasn't interested in him so what could he want?

Nate braced himself in case he had to run.

"Finally I find you, you dirty little thief." Marquez hissed in Spanish, pointing the baton he always had with him at Nate.  
"That's right, I have evidence. You've stolen the day's earnings from Vásquez' shop last Wednesday", he said loudly, so that the few people around them turned their heads and looked at the policeman and that boy with the filthy clothes. "You thought you'd get away with this again, huh? But not this time."

Nate had no idea what he was talking about. He'd never be so stupid to steal from one of the locals, not with all the tourists running around, seeing that most of them were the easier targets and they were unlikely to report to the authorities with much success.  
So apparently Marquez had simply gotten it into his head to frame Nate for something he hadn't done. The "why" wasn't that important, was it.

Marquez had him cornered now in some side alley and Nate knew his chances of running away this time weren't too good. They didn't exactly get any better when the cop used the baton to hit him in the shins. Hard.  
Nate involuntarily slumped to the ground and let out a little pained groan. Okay, Marquez wasn't fooling around this time.  
"No, no, no. You're not gonna run away from me this time. I will take you to the station now."

He still held the baton poised, ready to hit Nate again if he resisted.  
Nate clenched his teeth and got up awkwardly, trying to ignore the pain.  
God, what he would give to be able to pay this son of a bitch back all his cruelties.  
"Come", Marquez said, taking Nate roughly by the arm and pulling him towards the main street.  
Every step caused Nate to see stars, he was considering if he'd broken something but pushed the thought aside quickly. He looked up at Marquez. He seemed twitchier than usual. Something wasn't right.

"Listen now, you imbecile." Marquez said through gritted teeth. "I know you're a rather...talented thief." He shot Nate a look that was hard to interpret. "And, you see, I am willing to overlook the fact that you've stolen from all these people. And also..." he made a pause. Possibly only to add drama, Nate thought. "I am willing to overlook the fact that you've run away from the St. Francis orphanage four years ago."

Nate's heart stopped for a moment. But he made sure his expression didn't give him away, he wasn't going to give Marquez the satisfaction. How the hell had he found that out?  
They reached the main street.

They crossed it and Marquez dragged him into a little restaurant.  
He told Nate to sit down and ordered a beer and a lemonade. He put the lemonade in front of Nate. Nate left it untouched and just kept staring ahead into emptiness.  
Then he heard someone speaking English, he turned his head slightly to see a middle-aged man in a red shirt sitting at the bar. He was talking to someone and laughing in a deep raspy voice.  
The smell of the cigar he was holding filled the whole restaurant. He was sporting a rather distinctive mustache and there was a general cockiness about him.  
Marquez had been talking the whole time but Nate hadn't payed any attention to him.

"Have you even listened?" he heard Marquez hiss now. Nate turned his head again and went back to staring at the table.  
The policeman threw a faded yellow file on the table that had Nate's name, his old name, written on it. "See this? Everything about you is in this file, americano. But...if you do something for me, I will give you the file in exchange and then I don't ever want to see you in my district again, you hear me?"

Nate had said nothing until now and he wasn't planning on changing this. He just hoped the cop was not asking for any sexual kind of favor now. But then again...he would not ask for that, would he? He always just took whatever he wanted. So what the hell did the guy want from him?  
Marquez put a little pamphlet in front of Nate. He opened it and pointed at a small photo.

It depicted a little golden necklace with a golden pendant hanging from it that looked like it was Aztec. The cop tipped at the photo with his finger. "This.", he said. "Get me this thing by next week and we're even."

Nate took the pamphlet. He didn't exactly have a choice, now did he?

He got up, his legs feeling slightly better. From the corner of his eye he could see the American guy with the cigar was looking at him now.  
As he left the table he said quietly in Spanish: "I'll see what I can do." and walked out of the restaurant, his head held high, trying to hide his limp.

Even while leaving the shabby restaurant he had the uncomfortable feeling the American was still watching him. When he was sure to be far enough away he sat down at the side of the road and rubbed his shins, then winced at the pain that caused. He rolled up the jeans to find two large purple-black bruises blooming on both of his shins. That sick, cruel bastard.

He took out the pamphlet and read the cover. It was from a private gallery located in the Colonial Quarter. Apparently they were opening to the public in a month to exhibit some Aztec stuff like that necklace. Why the hell Marquez was so keen on getting this particular object was beyond Nate but it didn't matter. He would get the damn thing and buy himself free with it.


	4. Chapter 4

It was late afternoon.  
Nate had sat down on a stairway that led to what was apparently the backdoor of a restaurant and thought about what his options were.  
He could try to pretend the conversation between him and Marquez had never happened. But sooner or later he was bound to run into the cop again. And who could tell what the corrupt policeman would do then?  
He could try to leave the city, sure. But during these last four years on the streets Nate had never really considered this. Even now he couldn't say he liked the idea. Where could he go?  
He was aware that he was born in Boston, the U.S., where his father was probably still living. But as far as he was concerned, the place sounded as much as home to Nate as did "Antarctica".  
And… even if he made it back to the U.S., where would he go then? Go looking for his father? Yeah, not likely, seeing how the guy had gotten rid of him seven years ago.  
To Nate, his father was dead. And this suited him just right.  
Okay, he was obviously getting nowhere with this kind of thinking.  
His best shot was to simply do what Marquez wanted him to. Obtain that stupid piece of jewelry and hope the cop would keep to his word.

Nate got up and as he walked down the few steps saw a man standing at the far right side of him in the alley. That in itself wasn't that unusual but Nate had the distinct feeling he had seen the guy before. Then he recognized the red shirt.  
And the mustache.  
The American fellow from that shabby bar.

Nate thought about going the other way to avoid him but then remembered that to his left the street lead to a dead-end only.  
"Okay, just stay calm, squeeze past the guy and if he tries anything funny, run." Nate thought, feeling uneasy.

Before Nate could pursue his plan any further the man raised his voice: "Look, kiddo, I dunno what could possibly be going on in that head of yours but you have to give up on going for that idol right here. This is way out of your league."  
He reached behind his back and for an eerie moment Nate thought the man was going to pull a gun on him.  
Instead the guy held out money to Nate.  
"Here, kid, looks like it's money you're after, so have some. Just take it and get the hell outta here, now", the American said insistently, a stern look on his face.  
Nate glanced at the money, it seemed to be a rather large amount of 10 and 20 dollar bills and then back at the man's face.  
He didn't hesitate. Nate grabbed the money, squeezed past the guy and ran.  
Nate tried not to but ultimately couldn't help taking a quick look back at the man in the alley.  
What had that been about? The" idol"?  
So he had eavesdropped on him and Marquez in that bar after all. But what did he have to do with all that? Okay, it was more than clear that the man was after that piece of jewelry Marquez wanted, as well. But why had he bothered to give Nate money?  
Meh. Didn't matter much, did it? His loss.  
Nate shoved the bills into his bag and made his way to the Colonial Quarter. From there it was a stone's throw to the gallery.  
"Wanted me to give up, huh? Well, not likely, pal", Nate muttered defiantly.  
He would just have to get there before the other guy.


	5. Chapter 5

Fluffy pink clouds drifted in the bright orange sky. It looked so picturesque that it was beyond kitschy.  
The last rays of the setting evening sun warmed Nate's skin as he was standing on a rooftop about ten meters above ground.  
Before him was the Alvarez private gallery. It was a large mansion-like building with a bright red façade and teal window frames.  
As Nate examined it from up here he realized he had been here before.  
Then it had belonged to another owner, but it had been some sort of museum back then as well.

Okay, this gave him the advantage of roughly knowing the building. He would just have to make it to the rooftop and then find a window he could pry open to get in. He prayed they didn't have any fancy new security systems in there.  
By now the sun had been swallowed by the sea, the sky turning darker and darker.

Now for the jump.  
The distance between this roof and the other wasn't to be underestimated. Nate had chosen this rooftop because it was about three meters higher than the one of the gallery which should make the jump easier.  
Still it had to be perfect or he would risk missing the rain pipe on the other roof by a couple of inches.  
He took a deep breath and allowed himself a long run-up.

As his feet lost contact with the tiles Nate already knew he'd screwed up the jump.  
The rain pipe was still way out of reach and gravity was pulling him down mercilessly.  
Nate was already down to the fourth story as his hands finally managed to grab onto the wooden frame of a window, splinters digging deep into his palms. His body was thrown against the glass by the momentum, knocking the breath out of him but luckily it did not break.  
The last thing he needed was calling more attention to his enterprise. It was impossible to reach the roof from here.  
Nate decided he had already lost too much time now and that it was probably best to climb down and try to find another way in from the ground, even if the risk of being caught was higher.  
He carefully lowered himself down, window by window until his feet finally made contact with the cobblestones of the street.

It was surprisingly quiet. No pedestrians and only a car or two passing by now and then.  
When he thought it was safe Nate made a run for the inner courtyard.  
There was no one in here either. Good. This meant the American had probably not made it here yet.  
Nate looked around. A smile passed his lips. This was too easy. One of the windows in the second floor wasn't closed properly, the glass reflecting the light of the moon.  
There was a rain pipe going down the wall that was conveniently close to the half-shut window.  
Nate climbed up the pipe swiftly in what had to be his record time, anticipation making his fingers itch even more than the splinters.  
He opened the window with caution checking the inside for possible security. There seemed to be none.  
Once he was inside, he looked around for cameras or a signs of an alarm system but apparently Alvarez hadn't thought this was necessary.  
Very good! Now to find that stupid pendant… Nate took out the little pamphlet Marquez had given him. Okay, he was looking for a glass show-case with three small golden pieces of jewelry in it.  
Couldn't be that hard to find, now could it?  
The room he was in at the moment appeared to be something like the entrance hall. There was a desk at the far end of the room. To its left was a door that had a sign "for staff only" on it and on the other side was a larger door that had to lead to the exhibition rooms.  
Nate tiptoed to the other end of the room, slowly pushing down the door handle. Not locked. "This is just too easy to be really happening," Nate thought, smiling.  
He snuck into the room finding a rather large hall with show-cases on both sides of it.  
The moonlight reflected of the marble floor and the glass of the cases.  
Nate commenced checking each vitrine for its contents. After about fifteen minutes he gave up, disappointed.  
All the exhibits displayed here did not look anything like the stuff shown in the pamphlet. It wasn't Aztec, it appeared to be mostly European porcelain, Meissen china plates and figures, that kind of stuff.  
But there had to be more in here, right? And the exhibition advertised in the pamphlet wasn't about to be opened until next month, so maybe they had those exhibits stored elsewhere?  
A thought occurred to him. He went back into the entrance hall.  
He tried the door on the left. This one was locked but nothing his self-made lock pick couldn't take care of.  
Just as he turned the door knob of the now open door he heard a noise coming from the stairs that led down to the first floor.  
Was there someone else in here? Was it the American? How could he have gotten in this fast?  
Nate froze and listened. Silence. Maybe he had imagined it.  
Anyway, it was about time to get out of here. But not without that pendant.  
He quickly slipped inside the room that was for staff only. There was a desk full of documents and cardboard boxes in front of him, two windows to his left and some more show-cases lined up on the opposite side. He went straight for the show-cases. In the first one there was some ugly pottery, the one after that displayed some creepy-looking figurines and the one after that… bingo!  
Just as in the pamphlet there was a little golden earring on the left, then a necklace with golden and red beads and finally, the little golden idol, hanging from a golden chain. It looked like a blocky man with huge round eyes and red gems for pupils. He appeared to be holding a smaller head in his left hand. Nate picked the lock of the case and lifted the pendant from the dark velvet.  
It was fairly heavy. He carefully put it into his shoulder bag.  
For a moment Nate considered taking the other pieces as well but was interrupted in his thoughts by a quiet, yet distinctive shuffling noise on the other side of the door.  
That bastard had snuck up on him! Time to hurry and get out of there. Fast.  
The window was the best option. He quietly pushed open the window.  
Just as he was lowering himself down, holding onto the ledge, he could hear the heavy door opening with a tell-tale creak.  
Nate fumbled to get the window closed and hurriedly climbed down onto the street.  
His heart was beating hard in his chest both from the excitement and happiness. He'd beaten the other guy in their little game and could now buy himself free from that idiot Marquez!


	6. Chapter 6

Deciding it was probably best to stay away from his usual sleeping spots tonight, Nate headed to the beach in one of the less touristy areas. The houses were smaller and there were less people on the streets at this time of the night.

He was supposed to hand over the pendant in a couple of hours near the beach here anyway.  
This was one of those beaches so dirty and full of sharp stones, chunks of tar and the other waste of civilization that no one ever went there.

The ancient sewage system entered the ocean here as well, the old pipes coming out of the quay wall.  
Nate had been down there once or twice but there tended to be dangerous folks hiding away in the dark: Drug addicts and their dealers and both didn't suffer intruders gladly.  
Nate sat down on the quay wall, letting his tired feet dangle and looked out onto the dark sea.  
Now he'd just have to wait.

The sun rose up from the ocean. The sharp cries of sea gulls woke Nate. He got up, looked at the watch he had on his belt and stretched. It was almost six a.m.  
Marquez had told him to meet him at seven, the place was just a little further down the street.  
Nate walked there on stiff legs, trying to ignore the gnawing hunger and tension that both made his stomach hurt.  
As he waited he stretched and jumped a little up and down, readying himself in case something went wrong and he'd have to run. Just in case.  
"Well, well", a voice - unmistakably Marquez' - said behind him.  
"Wasn't sure you'd actually turn up here", he said in Spanish. He'd planted himself in front of Nate, arms crossed. The little badge on his shirt twinkled in irony. "But I guess even a dumb street rat like you understands what's at stake for yourself here, huh."  
Nate instinctively clenched his fists. What he would give to wipe that smirk off that face with a well-placed punch right now.  
"So did you get it, then? You better have, otherwise I will kill you right here". Marquez' voice sounded calm and indifferent.  
He had one hand on the holster of his gun the other one stretched out demandingly.  
Nate reached into his bag and let the necklace drop into the cop's palm. His greedy eyes immediately lightened up. "Good work, son," he said. Nate tried his best not to cringe at the word. "Don't call me that, asshole," he thought to himself.  
"So…we square now?", he finally managed through gritted teeth.  
Marquez' eyes were still locked on the pendant as he swiftly pulled out his gun and pointed it at Nate's head.

Nate's heart turned to ice, sending freezing liquid through his veins, making it impossible to move.  
That stinking, lying bastard.  
He should've known better in the first place.  
"Can't have you walk the streets and blabbering out our little secret, now can we?", Marquez said with a lazy smile.  
Nate watched him cocking the gun, still too stunned to move or even think.  
"Just close your eyes, son. It will be over in a second."

They heard a car approaching. In the quiet of the morning the noise seemed alien and oddly loud.  
"Shit", the policeman mumbled, grabbed Nate with his free hand and angrily shoved him further into the side alley.  
Nate was paralyzed. For some stupid reason he really hadn't seen it coming.  
He had hoped this time things would turn out alright. Well, so much for gut feeling.

Nate figured it was pointless to try and run, he was going to get shot. One way or another.  
Marquez was obviously waiting for the car to pass by, so that the driver would be well out of ear-shot when he pulled the trigger.  
As they both couldn't see the car from where they were standing, Nate and Marquez listened for the sound of the motor. But instead of the noise receding the motor stopped. They could hear the car door being opened and shut.  
Nate noticed the growing tension on the cop's face. He was getting twitchy now.  
Maybe not so good, considering the man had a cocked, loaded gun in his hand.  
Nate made a small move which immediately caused Marquez to snap: "Stay put, you little rat!", his voice just a little too shrill. Nate put his hands up and froze again.

"Dammit, kid", Nate heard a voice from behind him.  
The American guy from earlier. What a surprise. Nate turned his head only slightly to see that the guy was holding a gun as well and was pointing it at a rather dumbfounded Marquez now.  
Everything about the American suggested he meant business, his voice was calm, his expression concentrated.  
"Okay, nice try buddy. But now you better drop your gun and hand over that idol."  
Marquez just stared and Nate wondered if the cop even understood any English at all.  
A panicked look crossed Marquez' face and left it again. His lips formed a smug smile as he said, in heavily accented but otherwise flawless English: "And if I don't want to? If I shoot you instead?" He pointed his gun at the American now and seemed to have forgotten Nate was even present. Nate knew this was his best chance, but his legs still wouldn't move.  
"Go ahead and try, but I'll have put a bullet in your head before you can even pull the trigger."  
The American said this so self-assuredly it didn't even sound like he was bragging.

The next events happened so fast Nate didn't even have time to realize what he was doing until he found himself running towards the beach, away from Marquez and the other guy.  
Marquez had pointed the gun at the American and in one quick move shoved the golden idol into Nate's hand and hissed at him in Spanish to run away now.  
Nate had felt his legs move before thinking about what the hell he was doing.  
He just ran. Ran away from the two muzzles pointing at each other.  
When he just made up his mind he would run and hide in the old sewer system down at the beach he heard a gunshot.  
For some odd reason Nate hoped the American hadn't been just boasting and that had been his gun shooting.  
Although, he was after the idol as well, wasn't he? So no reason to relax just now. Who could tell that the American wasn't willing to shoot Nate to get what he wanted?  
Nate had to keep moving.  
He reached the street that was right next to the quay wall.  
He looked around for a short moment trying to figure out where the closest entrance to the sewers was. Okay. Down that way!  
Just as he crossed the street and was about to jump over the railing someone grabbed his arm.  
He spun around, his heart beating so hard it felt like it was about to burst.  
"Elena!", he managed, breathlessly. "What're you doing here? How did you-"  
"I saw you talking to that policeman the other day. I was out with my dad. Looked like you were in trouble. I saw you tonight when you passed by my hotel. And you went off into this direction, so I just followed."  
Nate just stared at her, not knowing what to say. Then he remembered now was really not the time for chatting. "Listen I gotta run, and you need to leave now!" Elena wrinkled her nose at this.  
"Hey, I just wanted to help you. I even brought money!"  
"What?", Nate said, irritated.  
"In case that's what the policeman wanted. I-…." Nate's head snapped around only to see the American was just turning around a corner and coming right their way.  
"Crap. C'mon we gotta go!" Nate said and grabbed the girl's arm.  
"What? Wait, ow-…" Elena had a hard time keeping up with Nate, but followed him anyway.  
Nate let go of Elena and jumped over the railing onto the filthy sand. From here they could enter the pipes. Elena looked down at him, clearly confused.  
"C'mon, jump. I'll catch ya", Nate shouted holding out his arms.  
Without hesitation Elena climbed onto the railing and jumped.  
She weighed almost nothing. He helped her up into the ancient stone pipe. From the corner of his eye he saw the American standing at the railing about 20 meters away from them.  
"Run!", Nate shouted as he climbed into the sewer pipe as well. It was pitch-dark in here, and after the bright morning sun Nate was practically blind in here.  
He ran and stumbled repeatedly. The ground was slippery with mud and stale rain water.  
After a while the pipe got broader and the way got increasingly steeper, making it even harder to move on.  
As they ventured deeper into the bowels of the city Nate's optimism and hope that they could lose the American in here grew constantly.  
Elena, who was still right ahead of him, stopped all of a sudden.  
"Keep going!" – "I can't! There's a huge gap!" Nate's eyes had adjusted to the dark by now and he could see what she was talking about.  
A large gaping hole at the bottom the pipe. Nate looked down into the dark abyss. It might not have been very deep but in this darkness, it was too much of a risk.  
He knew they didn't have much time. "Okay, listen, I don't think you can't make that jump, so... I will throw you."  
He didn't even have to see the girl's face to tell she was scared as hell. "Trust me, okay?"  
He heard her swallow hard, but then she croaked a meek "Okay". Obviously she was terrified.  
Nate gave her what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze and took her by both arms.  
She made it over fine and he heard her feet splashing through the water again. Good girl. She was surprisingly tough.  
Nate heard louder sloshing coming from behind him and knew the American was closing in on them. Crap.  
Nate braced himself for the jump, feeling like his heart was about to explode, but he couldn't give up now.  
He took a deep breath and jumped.  
The ground was way too slippery and with a curse he realized this was the second jump he'd screwed up in the last two days.

Just then a hand grabbed him at the back of his shirt. Nate was pulled back violently and fell hard on his back, his feet dangling over the edge of the hole in front of him. He could feel being pulled back and away from the edge. He managed to land a kick into what he hoped was the guy's face before a foot stepped onto his chest, keeping him down. Nate struggled to free himself but the fall had knocked the breath out of him and his muscles ached insanely.  
"Now I got you you filthy little rat." Nate felt the other boot pushed against his cheek.  
It was Marquez, not the American.  
"Now it is over, no more sneaking around and stealing, americano."  
The cop forced Nate's head down, applying more pressure. Nate tried to keep his nose and mouth out of the muddy water, thrashing with his arms and legs, trying to free himself. But his strength was failing and the policeman was simply too strong.  
Nate took one last quick breath before he was being pushed under.  
This was it.  
Drowned in the shallow water of a sewer. By a man who had always thought Nate was no more than a street rat. How perfectly ironic.  
Mud filled his nose and soon his mouth and he tried his best not to give in to the urge to breathe in. His lungs were on fire. His head felt like it was about to burst.  
He dreaded the final moment when he'd have to open his lungs in the vain attempt to suck in air only to fill them with liquid dirt.  
Red lights popped up in his vision behind the closed eyelids. Not far now...

Nate felt the weight lifted from him and lifted his head. He thought he heard Marquez cursing but wasn't sure, mud in his ears muffling everything.  
He gasped for air, only to get a mouthful of mud down his wind pipe. Coughing and spitting out muddy water, he tried to wipe his eyes so he could see what was going on.  
Nate thought he could see another figure standing above him, struggling with Marquez, but he wasn't sure, his vision blurry and the dark surrounding him.  
Marquez shouted something angrily which Nate couldn't make out and then he felt a hard kick into his ribs that sent him skidding right towards the gap.  
For a moment there was a falling sensation, then his head banged against something hard.  
As he lay there, his heart beating so hard it almost choked him, something warm was pooling around the back of his neck, his last thought was that it could only be his blood or more sewer water as his vision faded and everything went dark.


	7. Chapter 7

Nate awoke in a strange room. A good enough reason to send a rush of fear through him immediately. Instinctively he checked for a possible escape route. There were two large windows to his left, but the view suggested he was at least on the fourth floor of the building if not higher.  
Two doors. Were they locked?  
"Okay, relax, Nate", he tried to tell himself, "How bad could it possibly be, right? You're still alive and breathing and currently lying in... a clean bed."  
He slowly looked around, his head was pounding and his neck felt stiff.  
The room had a notable lack of color, all white, with a high ceiling and no pictures on the walls.  
Where the hell was he?  
Then he noticed a low humming, like from an old electronic device.  
And, yes, there was some sort of device standing on a bedside table next to the bed.

It slowly dawned on him where he was. Not that he'd ever been in a place like this, at least not that he could remember.  
But... who'd brought him here? And why wasn't he dead...? Hadn't the American guy been after them and-... them!  
Elena!  
He'd blacked out and left the girl there in the sewer tunnel all by herself!  
The pang of guilt he felt hurt even more than his throbbing head.  
Nate rubbed his chest, as though this would help as a sharp pain shot up his arm.  
Pain, pain and more pain...this was getting old...

Only then Nate noticed the needle that was stuck into his arm.  
A thin tube was attached to the thing that went up to a bag filled with a clear liquid, slowly dripping into the tube. What were they giving him? Drugs?  
Okay, time to get out of here and find Elena.

Nate hectically pulled out the needle which only hurt a little, spraying some of the liquid from the tube over the sheets.  
He threw back the blanket and realized he wasn't wearing his own clothes anymore.  
He was wearing a light blue...dress. And apparently nothing else.  
The thought that someone had undressed him while he had been unconscious had a lump forming in his throat.  
He pushed himself up from his elbows into a sitting position and forced his tired body to stand up.

The tiled floor felt cool under his naked feet.  
Standing wasn't a problem, he gratefully noted. If only it weren't for these terrible headaches. With every rapid beat of his heart his head felt like it was about to explode.  
He carefully made his way to the door to his left, finding a small bathroom with a sink, shower and toilet behind it.  
No signs of his shoes or clothing. Great.  
He shuffled towards the other door. This had to be the way out.

He opened the door and peeked out, looking out onto a long aisle. There were many other doors on both sides. But not a single person in sight. Good.  
Nate tiptoed as best as he could down the hall until he found a map of the building on the wall marking the emergency exits. It showed that there was one not too far from here just around the corner.  
Finally some luck! The rush of adrenaline washing over him energized Nate and he made his way to said exit in a matter of minutes. He was only 10 feet away from the large green door as another door unexpectedly opened in front of him. It hit him right in the face, sending him staggering back.  
He let out an involuntary groan.

"Goodness!", a woman's voice exclaimed. She was all dressed in white, she had to be a doctor or a nurse. "Are you alright, son?", she worriedly asked in Spanish.

Nate blinked a couple of times, eyes stinging and his nose feeling oddly numb.  
He managed a nod, feeling like a total idiot. His hand clumsily went up to his face.  
The woman in white gasped, although it didn't sound too concerned but rather annoyed.  
"What did you do? My, you've bleed all over the floor."  
Nate looked down and noticed she was right.

A slow trickle of blood was dripping from the puncture on his underarm, decorating the way he'd come with little crimson dots.  
She grabbed his arm and fumbled with something on his wrist. A plastic bracelet. It had some numbers and a name on it that wasn't his. This had to mean they didn't know his real identity, so that was good, wasn't it?  
She gave him some cotton pads to cover the wound with.  
"Come on, boy, I'll get you back to your room. You should be in bed. She dragged him down the hall back to "his" room.

After she had changed the sheets and put him back in bed, she had poked another needle in his skin, this time on the right arm. The woman had looked him over sternly and said: "Now stay in bed, I am sure your uncle will be back soon."  
Uncle? Who was she talking about?  
Nate let out a deep sigh and let himself fall back into the fluffy pillow.  
He suddenly realized how tired he was. His whole body was aching and he could barely keep his eyes open. He allowed himself to close his eyes, "just for a moment", he told himself.

Nate yawned and slowly opened his sleep-crusted eyes.  
"Back amongst the living then, huh", a raspy voice said right next to him.  
His heart sank as the information was processed by his brain.  
It was the American.  
He turned around to face the man. His body felt so heavy now, as though it was lead running through his veins, not blood.  
The guy was sitting on a chair next to his bed, looking at him...almost worried..?  
For a moment that stretched into what seemed like an eternity they just stared at each other.  
What the hell was going on?

"If you are going to kill me better get it over with now", Nate heard himself say as he dropped his gaze again. His voice sounded so small and shaky.  
To Nate's puzzlement the guy laughed, a hoarse, heartfelt laugh.  
"Kill you? Kid, what the hell is going on in that head of yours? Why would I wanna kill a child?"  
Nate struggled to prop himself up on his elbows. "'Cause you were after that pendant, weren't you? You had seen me with M-...the policeman and then you chased me..."

"Right to the point, huh? Well, yeah, I was supposed to obtain that piece of jewelry, true. But my work doesn't usually include shooting kids. Especially not when they were clearly blackmailed to steal it for someone else." The man sighed and gave him a look that was hard to read.  
"So, I was following you to get the pendant but then that cop caught up with me and almost killed you. Brought you here, you've been out for the last three days, kid."  
Suddenly Nate remembered what he really should be worried about.  
"Where's Elena?" he blurted out.

The man shot him a surprised look. "You mean the girl? I found her a bit further up the pipe. She was scared like hell but not hurt. I got her back to her parents, after bringing you here."  
"I don't believe you."  
"Thought you wouldn't. Here's a note from her. Read it." He handed him a bit of yellow paper.  
It was filled with a neat curly hand writing.

"Dear Nathan,  
I hope you are feeling better by the time you read this.  
You fell down a hole in the pipe and hit your head pretty badly. Mr. Sullivan found you and then we took you to the hospital. If my parents let me I will come and visit you!  
Get well & see you soon!  
- Elena"

Nate folded the note. "How do I know that's really written by her?"  
The man chuckled. "Oh so you trust me to have such a pretty hand writing? I'm flattered, kid. No, she really was here with me. When I brought her back to her parents up in that fancy hotel, the one in Calle de Santo Domingo, I had to come up with some big story that I was a tour guide and I found her wandering the streets. Not sure they really bought it, but they certainly were happy to have her back."  
That information was more reassuring. It was the right address, he remembered. Maybe the man was telling the truth after all.

"Do you believe me now, kid?"  
Nate winced as his muscles were protesting when he tried to sit up. "I'm not a 'kid'", he scowled.  
The man smiled. "Sure, sorry. How about I introduce myself: Victor Sullivan." He extended a hand towards Nate. The teen's gaze flicked from the hand to the man's face and back to the hand again.  
"What do you want from me? I assume you already took your money and the idol anyway", Nate said, not hiding his suspicion.

Sullivan dropped his hand. "Okay, so much for exchanging pleasantries...", he muttered.  
"Admittedly, I took the pendant out from your bag, when you were sleeping, but I had to get it back to my client in time. Also with Marquez out of the way I figured you wouldn't really need it any longer, right?"  
Nate's eyes widened. "What happened to him?"  
Sullivan looked a little uncomfortable now, shifting in his chair. "Look kid, he would've kicked your head in, he was totally out of it... had to find a way to stop him."  
"You shot him", Nate whispered in disbelief. He felt, relieved and yet something felt wrong about that.  
The man gave a little shrug and a nod. "But I'd like this to stay between you and me okay, boy? It'll take some time until he'll be missed and then even more time to find his body."  
"So what are you gonna do? Run?" How the hell he managed to stay so calm was utterly beyond Nate.  
Sullivan gave another tired smile. "Well, yeah. That's the plan."  
"Then what are you still doing here?"  
"Couldn't very well leave you here, now could I?"  
Nate involuntarily shook his head a little and gave another scowl. "What are you getting at?"  
"Damn it kid, what's with the hostility? I dunno if you've noticed but I just saved your life back there!"  
"Thanks", Nate said dryly. "But what do you want from me now?" Nate tried not to think about how exposed he felt, being pretty much naked beneath the sheets.

"What I wanted was to make sure you were gonna be alright", Sullivan said, his voice louder now, clearly angry.  
"I don't need help. And certainly not from middle aged men I don't even know"", Nate said stubbornly. "I can handle myself just fine."  
The man scoffed. "Yeah, I saw."  
Something in Nate just snapped. "Just back the fuck off, okay?", he yelled.

The words seemed to linger in the room for a moment.  
Nate glared at the man. He didn't need help, he didn't need anyone.  
Sullivan looked at him, seeming baffled.  
After what seemed to be an eternity Sully coughed and said: "Okay. I get it. You want me to leave you alone. Believe me, I would.  
But I'm afraid you're not entirely safe here. If they should somehow make the connections between you and Marquez' death, well... you're in big trouble."  
Nate thought about this. He hated to admit it, but Sullivan was right. Nate crossed his arms, flinched at the pain that caused and uncrossed them. He rubbed his face with both hands and sighed.  
Hands still covering his eyes he said: "Okay, and what do you think I should do?"

"Listen up. I know you won't like this, but you should come with me. I'll see to it that we get out of Cartagena within the next week."  
Nate dropped his hands and stole a glance at the man's face to see whether he was kidding.  
With a nervous chuckle he said: "Yeah, right. And then, what will you do with me?"  
"I know this isn't easy for you, but in this case you gotta trust me on this one...are you sure you don't wanna tell me your name?", Sullivan asked.  
"Jack Taylor", Nate said without even thinking. Things like that came so easy to him these days.  
"Alright... Jack", the man said and it was more than clear he wasn't swallowing it.

It was obvious to both of them they were biting on granite here.  
Then the door opened and a woman in a white coat came in.  
The tension eased for a moment as both Sullivan and Nate cleared their throats and gave polite smiles.

It wasn't the nurse from earlier, she introduced herself as Doctor Ortiz. She had short dark-brown hair, bronze skin and a pleasant smile. Her English was perfect with a slight British accent.  
She asked how Nate was feeling today and said something about a concussion and another week of bed rest and some stuff that didn't make much sense to Nate.  
Then she checked his pulse, heart rate and, much to Nate's displeasure took some blood. Another needle stuck into his body. Still he forced himself to look at the syringe as it poked through his skin, he didn't want either or Sullivan to think he was squirmish.

When the doctor had left, Sullivan stood up and went to the window, opening it. The white curtains caught in a gust of wind. The jumble of noises of people talking, traffic and music that was so typical for Cartagena could be heard now and it calmed Nate down a little.

Sullivan turned and headed for the door.  
"I'll leave you alone now for a while. Think about what I said. I'll see you tomorrow."  
He looked back at Nate. "And kid? Don't try to run again, okay?"  
Nate stared ahead, hating himself for blushing now. So the nurse must have told him.


	8. Chapter 8

The hours of the afternoon stretched into what felt like months.  
Nate couldn't help but stare at the door waiting for something to happen.  
When the door finally did open Nate almost cheered. A nurse came in with a tray.  
"Dinner", the guy announced happily and put the tray on the empty bedside table.  
As if on cue, Nate's stomach rumbled.  
It wasn't spectacular food but at this moment Nate would have eaten almost anything.  
Just as he was stuffing the last spoonful of rice into his mouth the door opened again and a short figure appeared in the door frame.  
"Elena!", Nate exclaimed, mouth still half-full.  
The girl smiled broadly and ran up to his bed. "How are you feeling? Mr. Sullivan told me you were unconscious for three days!"  
Nate looked puzzled. "You talked to him? When?"  
Elena's smaller hand found his. She held it gently and gave him a little reassuring squeeze. Nate liked how that felt somehow.  
"He gave me his number and told me I could call him if I wanted to know how you were. He called this morning and said that you've woken up, so I asked my parents to drop me off here." She smiled.  
"And they let you?"  
"Well I said you were a friend and that you were sick and in hospital. I told them you were from that tour I took with them in the naval museum. They never remember the other children I talk to so... They will pick me up in an hour."  
"Sorry I got you in so much trouble."  
Elena shook her head. "It's alright. It was really lucky Mr. Sullivan came along though."  
Her expression became serious. She whispered: "I think he killed the policeman though. I heard some loud noise, like the guns in movies. But much, much louder."  
Nate looked at her wide-eyed, not sure what to say.  
"Don't worry about it", was all he could come up with.  
"You're right. Mr. Sullivan is a good man", she added quickly.  
"Oh", she said. "Here, I brought you some cookies, their from home, I thought maybe you remember them."  
Nate looked at the wrapping, not recognizing the brand.  
"Thanks", he said and smiled back at her. "I sorta do."  
This seemed to make her happy. "Great! I think you get out in a week, right? Maybe we can meet then, before I'll leave with my parents."  
"Leave?" Nate repeated slowly. "You're going back home?"  
Elena's smile faded. "For now, but they said we have to go to some place in Asia in three weeks. I think it was Nepal."  
"I see."  
"But I will write you letters, if you give me your-", she stopped, blushing. "Sorry... I forgot you have no home address."  
"Quite alright. I might leave Cartagena as well, you know."  
Where on earth had that come from? When exactly had he decided to accept Sullivan's offer?  
"Uhm, I mean... Sullivan suggested I could go with him, although I don't know exactly where that is..." Nate's voice trailed off.  
"Really? That sounds great! So he is adopting you?"  
Nate looked shocked. "No! He just said he'd-..." Nate thought for a moment. "I don't know."  
"I think he didn't want to show it but he seemed very worried about you, Nathan." Elena said.  
Nate looked away. "I wonder why he would even care."  
"Because he is a good person. He's not like that policeman."

They just sat there in silence for a while.  
Elena's hand in his, their fingers firmly intertwined Nate allowed himself to relax a little. An unfamiliar warmth spread from the middle of his chest through his body.  
For the first time in... years he felt... genuinely happy.  
It felt like only minutes had passed when there was a knock on the door.  
"I have to go, Nathan." Elena said. "I can call you maybe, you have a phone here." She pointed to a yellowed plastic phone hanging on the wall.  
"Sure. Talk to you then." Why did he feel so uncomfortable now? He didn't want her to leave. He didn't want to be alone right now.  
Elena let go of his hand and turned to leave.  
She was almost at the door when she ran back to him and planted a kiss on his cheek.  
"Bye, Nathan", she said.  
And like that she was gone.


	9. Chapter 9

The following night was terrible.  
Something, maybe the headaches, maybe the food or maybe the weird stuff they had pumped into him made him violently nauseous.  
Every time Nate tried closing his eyes, everything started spinning and he felt like he was falling down an endlessly deep pit.  
When he finally did manage to fall asleep the sun was already rising.

The doctor woke him and asked how he was feeling.  
Nate said something about feeling a little dizzy, which was a huge understatement and was handed some pills. More drugs, great. He silently decided not to take them.  
She did take out the needle with the tube though, reminding him not to forget to drink a lot of water now. So was that what they had given him? Just water?  
"Your uncle has been waiting outside for a while, do you want him to come in now?", the doctor asked with a sweet smile. If she knew the truth she wouldn't be happy at all, Nate imagined.  
He nodded. The doctor left and kept the door open.  
"Hey kiddo, how are you today?"  
Nate gave a little wave and fake smile towards Sullivan. "Much better, Uncle", he said, playing along. The man closed the door. "Sorry about that. But I had to make them believe we were in some way related to each other."  
"Sure." Nate said, indifferently. "Just glad you didn't claim you were my dad."  
Sullivan laughed, "Ah well, could've done that. But I don't really like the idea of being a father at just thirty-something."  
"Just?", Nate said mockingly. "You're old!"  
"Hey don't call me that, son." "Don't call me that, and I won't call you old", Nate replied.  
"Touché", Sullivan said. "Then how about you call me Sully and I call you by your real name from now on, huh?"  
Nate gave a crooked smile. Had to admit, the old guy was a tough negotiator.  
"It's Nathan. Nathan Drake."  
Sully shot him a look that suggested he was surprised with Nate's answer.  
"So...Drake, huh? Like the explorer?"  
Nate grinned. "Exactly."  
"Right, right." Sully's voice trailed off.  
"Okay kid. I hoped we could be honest to each other and if this is supposed to work out we gotta be able to trust each other to a certain level, at least."  
"What do you mean?"  
"Your real name, kid. C'mon", Sullivan said more demandingly now.  
"This is my real name!" Nate said defensively, his voice a bit too loud.  
Sully sighed and dropped a heap of crumpled yellowed papers onto Nate's bed.  
"Found these in Marquez' jacket. Couldn't help but take a look at 'em and it says here you name is-"  
"That's not my name!" Nate was almost yelling. He squeezed his eyes shut.  
Much quieter, he added: "Look, those documents are old. My father filled them out and he-... I don't care what some papers say. I go by the name my mother gave me."

"I see. I'm sorry, kid." Sullivan seemed a little uncomfortable.  
"It's alright, but-... do me a favor and let's never talk about this again, okay?"  
Sully nodded, relieved. "Sure." He changed the subject.  
"Are you hungry?"


End file.
